


Notre Barrière Linguistique Inexistante

by pressdbtwnpages



Category: Band of Brothers, Jonas Brothers
Genre: AU, Band Of Jonas Brothers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressdbtwnpages/pseuds/pressdbtwnpages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shivering boy leaning up against a cathedral wall catches Dick's eye while he's on leave in Paris. A "Crossroads" outtake/AU moment coda thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Notre Barrière Linguistique Inexistante

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://elterriblefizzy.livejournal.com/profile)[**elterriblefizzy**](http://elterriblefizzy.livejournal.com/), [](http://blueandbrady.livejournal.com/profile)[**blueandbrady**](http://blueandbrady.livejournal.com/), and [](http://siren-mage.livejournal.com/profile)[**siren_mage**](http://siren-mage.livejournal.com/) (who isn't in either of these fandoms at ALL) all listened to me whine, and helped beta, and hit up babelfish when I demanded a title. (So, yeah, the quality of this title is doubtless abysmal.)

Dick would rather be back at headquarters with the men than here in Paris. He feels guilty being on leave when Easy, all of the regiment, are stuck in barracks. And there's something about being so far from the line that makes the ghosts louder, more insistent. That German kid he shot, Dick was fine, but now every time he blinks he sees the kid imprinted on his eyelids.

And Paris. Well, it's lovely, Dick supposes. A lot of people trying desperately to pretend that the war is over. But it's lonely too, the sort of place you ought to visit with your lover, or with a group of laughing boisterous friends. It's wasted on Dick.

Dick's here because he was ordered to be. A mandated vacation. It feels more like a punishment, but then, so does his promotion.

He goes through the motions, sipping perfectly brewed espresso in a cafe, roaming the streets and taking in the sights though he'd rather have stewed coffee in a tent with Nix, and the only sight that catches his eye is a shivering boy leaning up against a cathedral wall wearing too few clothes.

Dick doesn't know what possesses him to approach the kid - and he's clearly that, younger than his own Easy Company men - but he does. The kid raises his eyebrows as he spots Dick approaching, and shoves himself up off the wall.

"Hello, solider," the boy says in stilted English, heavily accented. Dick gets the impression he practiced the phrase a lot.

"Are you alright?" Dick asks. He's anticipating a language barrier, he's not expecting the way the boy goes frozen and shut down. He elaborates, wondering if the kid misunderstood him, wrapping his arms around himself and saying, "It's cold."

"What can I do for you?" The boy asks. His voice is a little harder, his accent not quite so thick. His eyes are still narrowed, but he's trying to school his face back to calm. Dick knows that particular effort, he sees it a lot, and not just in mirrors.

Dick doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what he's looking for, why he's even talking to this kid who obviously doesn't want to be talking to him. Just that something about the boy is calling to Dick like they know each other, like he reminds Dick of someone. So that's what he tells the young man.

"You remind me of someone."

"Ahh." The boy nods like he expected it.

"What's your name?" Dick asks quickly, like tearing a band-aid off.

The kid tilts his head to the side and stares at him.

"Name?" Dick points at himself. "I'm Dick Winters."

The boy bites his lower lip and considers Dick.

"Nicholas," he says, finally. "Should we go?"

Dick is a little surprised. He'd been thinking of buying the kid - Nicholas - a coffee or something to help warm him up, maybe some food. But he hadn't expected Nicholas to accept, much less be the one to suggest it.

Dick nods his assent and Nicholas shrugs away from the wall, bumping Dick's shoulder companionably.

"I was thinking, a cafe?" Dick asks, watching for a reaction.

Nicholas looks briefly taken aback but nods his assent easily. He takes a slight lead, guiding Dick to what he presumes is Nicholas' favorite cafe.

When they step onto the patio, the maitre'd gives Nicholas a dirty look, one Dick is certain Nicholas noticed, but Nicholas ignores him and gestures Dick into a seat.

Dick orders two cafe au laits and watches as Nicholas wraps both grimy hands around the mug and inhales deeply, savoring the warmth.

Nicholas catches him looking, his eyes flash annoyance but there's a gentle smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

They don't seem to need a common language to understand each other. Dick likes that.

Nicholas tries to take a sip of his drink, though it's still much too hot. Dick laughs at the face he makes, like the coffee has somehow betrayed him.

"Blow," Dick advises.

Nicholas' eyebrows shoot up and he drops his napkin, starting to bend under the table for it.

Dick touches the young man's arm and hands Nicholas his own napkin. He mimics blowing on his coffee to cool it, repeating the word 'blow' and Nicholas laughs sharp and bright.

His jaw drops and his eyes crinkle to little more than slits. Nicholas seems surprised by the action, as if it has been a very long time since he had last laughed and he had nearly forgotten how to.

It is that laugh more than anything that has Dick hailing a waiter and ordering meals for himself and Nicholas.

If there is one boy he can protect, one person he can keep whole and warm and safe, even for a single night, Dick needs to do it. For his own sake as much as Nicholas'. Maybe spending a handful of francs on this boy will absolve Dick of the handful of bullets he spent on another.

The longer they spend together, the more Nicholas lowers his guard, the more Dick likes him. He's smart, quick, Dick can tell. He jokingly blows on his second coffee, smirking at Dick, and steals pommes frites from Dick's plate playfully instead of eating his own. They smile a lot, laugh together, a simple fragile bond.

After they've finished and Dick has paid, Nicholas takes Dick's hand.

He's not sure if that something they do in Paris, but he doesn't care. He likes the simple gesture, the human contact.

Nicholas guides him through the streets of Paris at sunset. Beside him, Dick can see the charm of Paris emerging from the shadows. The graceful architecture, the artistic sensibility, the Parisian pride.

Eventually, Dick realizes that Nicholas has lead him back to his hotel, though Dick is fairly certain he never mentioned where he was staying.

There are a lot of American soldiers around, and Nicholas' correct assumption isn't unreasonable.

"Home?" Nicholas asks tentatively. Dick nods.

"Where is your home?" Dick asks because something is telling him to. Because he's curious.

Nicholas shakes his head vigorously. "No. No. No home."

Dick isn't sure if Nicholas is telling him that he is homeless or just very desperately doesn't want to go home, but regardless finds himself inviting the boy in.

Nicholas assents easily. More easily than he should, Dick thinks. Especially for a boy who was so wary of going for coffee with him.

When the door to Dick's room closes, Nicholas turns and quickly locks it.

For a brief moment Dick feels a tiny spark of fear. What is he doing inviting strangers into his private space?

But he is a Captain in the United States Army. He has spent the last five months being shot at and bombed out. A frightened starving teenager is not a serious threat to his welfare.

Dick sits on the edge of his bed.

Nicholas smiles his tight-lipped smile and takes off his threadbare coat. He steps close to Dick, a steady hand reaching out and brushing at Dick's chest before starting to work at his buttons.

Dick's brain fills with white noise and a sudden understanding.

"No. No." He gently pushes Nicholas' hand away.

Nicholas flushes, shoves his hands into his pockets, and turns toward the door.

Dick reaches for him. "Stay."

He knows Nicholas is confused, but Dick can't let him back out into the cold, dangerous night. Not when Nicholas has no place to go.

Dick guides Nicholas into the bathroom, turns the bath tub spigot, adjusts the temperature, and leaves Nicholas there, shutting the door firmly behind him.

He doesn't know what he's doing. There is a prostitute in his bathroom. One Dick has fed and bonded with. This is not the sort of thing that generally happens to him and he wishes Lew were here. Lew would know what to do. All Dick knows is that this kid is his responsibility.

The bathroom door swings open and Dick sees a glimpse of pale skin, hears the splash of a too thin body dropping into the bath.

He shouldn't want this. Protecting this stranger he met on the street, it's sentimental and stupid, and what he's thinking now isn't even a little bit like protection.

It's been so long since he was stateside. Longer still since he was free to go about his personal business there. And all that time Lew at his side, trusting eyes and cynical smile that makes Dick want to wipe it away.

A few feet away, a cold, lonely, willing young man sits waiting. Dick tells himself he hasn't made up his mind, but he knows he won't say 'no' again tonight.

He unbuttons his own shirt, hangs it carefully over a chair, and walks into the bathroom.

Nicholas sits in the bathtub, looking bewildered.

Dick kneels at the side of the tub, avoiding making eye contact. He picks up the soap and a wash rag, carefully rubbing at the back of Nicholas' neck.

Nicholas sighs, his body curving in on itself as he relaxes and Dick realizes just how tightly he has been holding himself all day.

Dick continues wiping at skin surprisingly dissimilar to his own fair complexion. Nicholas is dirty enough, even under his clothes, that Dick leaves a visible trail of where he has been. He is grateful that for once he can leave something cleaner than he found it, that in Paris he is not leaving a trail of blood behind.

There is something soothing about setting himself a manual task, holding the rough washcloth to fragile skin. Under the grime Nicholas is pale and marred with dark moles and freckles. Dick follows them like connecting the dots. It's been a long time since he's touched someone else's skin this way. It's nice. It makes him forget. The swirl of the washcloth silencing his ghosts.

Gradually Nicholas starts leaning into him, helping by raising an elbow here, turning this way or that so that Dick doesn't miss a spot.

It doesn't come as a surprise when Nicholas closes his eyes and rests chapped lips against Dick's own. Dick sighs against him and waits for Nicholas to move back so that Dick can continue cleaning him.

At last Dick is satisfied. He stands and reaches for the fluffy white towel that has been left in the room, unfolding it and holding it out in front of him. Nicholas takes the cue for what it is and stands, water sluicing down his torso and legs. He steps gingerly out of the bath, slipping on the tile floor and into Dick's arms.

Dick wraps the towel snugly around Nicholas, rubbing at his arms through the cloth the way he would a child.

He unplugs the drain and they both watch as dingy water swirls away down the drain. Nicholas leans back against him.

Dick is grateful for the language barrier. He doesn't know what he would say if he could.

Instead, he guides Nicholas back into the bedroom and turns down the crisp white sheets on one side of the bed. He turns off the light, shucks off his pants, and gets in on the other side of the bed.

Nicholas joins him quickly, pressing back into Dick's arms. He's still warm from the bath, skin moist and feverish.

Dick wonders when Nicholas was last held, really held. He seems hungry for it. It makes Dick wrap his arms tighter around the boy, Nicholas' ribs noticeable against him.

Dick runs his hand over the boy's still-smooth chest comfortingly, lets Nicholas wriggle impossibly closer. And for the first time in days, when Dick closes his eyes, he doesn't see a German boy's frightened face.


End file.
